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THE  FACE  AT  THE 
WINDOW 


A DRAMA  IN  THREE  ACTS 


BY 

W.  a^PARKER 


AUTHOR  OF 

Those  Dreadful  Twins ” “A  Black  Heifer,”  “The  Lonelyville  Social 
Club,”  “Brother  Josiah,”  “All  a Mistake,”  etc. 


CHICAGO 

T.  S.  DENISON  & COMPANY 

Publishers 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW 


CAST  OF  CHARACTERS. 


Reginald  Spofford 

Chester  La  Grange  ) 

alias  > 

Second  Story  Bill  J 

Mose  Johnson 

Henry  Swartwood 

Vera  Stanley  

Mrs.  Spofford 

Lillian  Stanhope 

Dinah  

A Number  of  Villagers,  Etc 


. One  of  New  York's  400 

Of  Unsavory  Reputation 

. .Who  Refuses  to  Work 

A Detective 

Wronged,  but  Forgiving « 

Mother  of  Reginald 

Her  Niece 

A Domestic 


Place — A Village  Near  New  York. 

Time — The  Present. 

Time  of  Playing — About  Two  Hours . 



t 

c 

Notice — Amateurs  are  free  to  produce  this  play,  but  the  sole 
professional  rights  are  reserved  by  the  author,  who  may  be  ad- 
dressed in  care  of  the  Publisher. 


COPYRIGHT,  1904,  BY  T.  S.  DENISON. 
MADE  IN  U.  S.  A. 


2 


3 


sii 


L, 

THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


COSTUMES. 

* 

Reginald. — Suitable  business  suit.  May  change  for  Act 
II.  if  desired. 

Chester,  Act  I. — Rough,  castaway,  well  worn  suit,  slouch 
lat,  several  days’  growth  of  beard  appearing  on  his  face. 
let  II.  Splendidly  dressed  in  light  traveling  suit,  etc.  Act 
II.  Appearing  to  be  on  the  verge  of  “shabby  genteel.” 
Mose. — Rough  castaway  suit,  change  to  old  Salvation 
Vrmy  suit.  Acts  II.  and  III.,  suitable  servant’s  livery. 
Henry. — Business  suit,  derby  hat. 

Vera. — Acts  I.  and  II.,  refined  house  gowns.  Act  III . 
iValking  dress  with  cape  over  shoulders. 

Mrs.  Spofford. — Neat  walking  gowns. 

Lillian. — Neat  walking  gowns. 

Dinah. — Act  I.  Kitchen  dress.  Acts  II.  and  III.  Neat 
ervant’s  dresses. 

Villagers. — All  kinds  and  classes. 


PROPERTIES. 

Act  I. — Feather  duster  for  Dinah.  Dishes,  etc.,  for  table, 
tibbons,  laces,  etc.,  on  escritoire.  Handkerchief  for 
Chester.  Sealed  letter  for  Dinah.  Table  bell  on  table. 
Imbrella  for  Mose,  Key  in  drawer  and  revolver  for  Vera. 

Act  II. — Eyeglass  for  Mrs.  S.  Photograph  for  Vera. 
,ocket  and  chain  for  Lillian.  Burglar  tools  for  Chester. 
lecklace  in  drawer.  Knife  for  Chester. 

Act  III. — Handcuffs  for  Henry.  Card  for  Reginald,. 
ain  coat  for  Chester.  Revolver  for  Chester.  Revolver 
[or  Henry. 


4 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


SYNOPSIS  FOR  PROGRAM. 

Act  I. — The  unprotected  home.  The  rejected  suitor 
The  plot  to  rob.  The  Salvation  Army  man.  The  letter 
The  secret  of  a life.  The  attempted  robbery.  The  recog 
nition.  The  fight  against  odds.  Reginald  to  the  rescue. 

Act  II. — Continued  persecution.  The  refusal.  The  re 
formed  burglar.  The  heiress.  Plot  and  counter  plot.  Th< 
photograph.  Reunited  school  girls.  Courting  under  diffi 
culties.  The  discovery.  The  robbery.  The  interrupte( 
murder  of  the  wrong  party.  “The  Face  at  the  Window.” 

Act  III. — The  lonely  rocky  pass.  Raking  up  old  occur 
rences.  Seeing  things  in  a new  light.  The  explanation 
The  slippery  rocks.  The  clandestine  meeting.  The  rejectee 
proposal.  The  use  of  force.  The  battle  on  the  rocks.  Th* 
right  wins.  “Free  at  last.” 


SCENE. 

i 

Acts  I.  and  II. — Drawing  room,  home  of  Vera  Stanley 
Act  III. — A Rocky  Pass,  Palisades  of  the  Hudson.  Th* 
rocks  required  may  be  produced  by  placing  ground  clotj 
over  boxes  of  various  sizes,  with  or  without  wood  wings  am 
set  rocks. 


SCENE  PLOT. 

ACTS  I.  AND  II. 


LANDSCAPE  BACKING 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


5 


ACT  III. 


LANDSCAPE  BACKING 


Rocks 


Rocks 


Wood  Wings 


Wood  Wings 


Wood  Wings 


Wood  Wings 


STAGE  DIRECTIONS. 

R.  means  right  of  the  stage;  C.,  center;  R.  C.,  right  cen- 
ter; L.}  left;  R.  D right  door;  L.  D.,  left  door,  etc.;  i E., 
first  entrance ; U.  E.,  upper  entrance,  etc. ; D.  F door  in 
fiat  or  scene  running  across  the  back  of  the  stage;  I G.,  first 
groove,  etc.  The  actor  is  supposed  to  be  facing  the  audience. 


LIGHT  PLOT. 

Act  I. — Lights  on  full.  At  cue  “a  hundred  dollars” 
gradually  lower,  and  turn  on  red  light  in  grate  and  white 
light  for  moonlight  effect  in  window.  The  white  light  may 
be  produced  by  a lamp  of  any  sort  placed  so  that  a strong  re- 
flector will  concentrate  the  light  through  the  window  with- 
out the  lamp  being  seen  by  the  audience. 

Act  II. — Lights  on  full.  At  cue  “your  old  playfellow.* 
change  lights  same  as  Act  I. 

Act  III. — Lights  on  full  throughout. 


MUSIC. 

In  case  there  is  any  difficulty  in  finding  suitable  music  for 
the  play,  a good  selection  of  incidental  music  will  be  found 
in  Denison’s  “Descriptive  Music  Book”  which  may  be  ob- 
tained from  the  publisher  for  the  price  of  $1.50,  postpaid. 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


ACT  I. 

Scene. — Interior.  Fancy  Chamber.  Practical  window 

with  curtains,  up  C.  Doors,  R.  2 E.,  and  L.  3 E.  Fire- 
place, L.  2 E.  Armchair  and  footstool  in  front  of  fire- 
place. Escritoire , up  R.  Table,  down  C.  Chairs,  etc.y 
to  dress  the  stage.  See  Scene  Plot  for  stage  setting. 

Lively  Music  Until  Curtain  Up. 

Discovered , Dinah. 

Dinah  (dusting).  I can’t  git  it  fro  ma  ole  hard  head, 
jes’  what  am  de  matter  wif  de  missus  lately.  I done  specs  i 
she’s  gwine  ter  be  a mighty  sick  pusson,  ef  she  doan  stop 
habin’  dem  yere  nervous  faintin’  spells,  an’  sech  like.  Neb-  ! 
ber  did  see  nuffin’  like  it,  nohow.  Nebber  did,  fo  suah. 

Enter  Mose,  door  L.  3 E. 

Mose  (sticking  his  head  out  cautiously ).  Hush! 

Din.  Who  dar? 

Mo.  (coming  on).  Me,  Dinah.  Don’t  you  recomember ) 
you’  little  honey? 

Din.  Go  on,  man,  you  ain’t  no  honey  ob  mine.  How; 
many  times  I got  ter  tell  you  all  not  to  come  aroun’  an’ 
bother  me  wha  I’se  workin’  ? Go  on ! Get  out,  foa  I done 
put  you  out ! 

Mo.  Look,  yah,  Dinah,  ef  you  only  knowed  how  anxious 
I is  to  see  you,  you  wouldn’t  talk  dat  way  ter  me.  Jes 
think  ob  it ! I haint  see’d  you  in  mos’  two  weeks ! 

Din.  Naw,  an’  I doan  care  ef  I doan  see  you  foa  ten 
yeah’s  moah.  You  ain’t  nuffin  but  a common,  low-down 
niggah,  nohow ! 


6 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


7 


Mo.  Doan  you  call  me  names;  woman ! 

Din.  Doan  you  gib  me  no  sass,  man ! 

Mo.  I doan  gib  you  no  sass.  Ese  talkin'  sense,  I is. 
Say,  listen.  Did  you  heah  de  news? 

Din.  Wha'  news? 

Mo.  ( aside ).  Curiosity  am  de  bait  wot  catches  a woman, 
ebery  time.  {To  Din.)  Why,  I done  heard  dat  Mrs.  Spof- 
ford  am  goin'  to  make  her  son  Reginald  marry  her  niece, 
Lillian  Stanhope. 

Din.  Den  his  mammy'll  git  left,  fer  her  son  Reggy  is 
jes'  simply  dead  stuck  on  my  missus. 

Mo.  Yas,  but  you  doan  un'stan'  dat  Miss  Stanhope  is  a 
mighty  rich  gal. 

Din.  No  moah  dan  you  un'stan'  dat  Vera  Stanley,  my 
missus,  am  jes'  as  dog-gone  rich.  Why,  her  diamonds 
alone  am  wort'  a fortun'. 

Mo.  Den  what  am  she  a doin',  a libin'  out  yeah  all  alone  ? 

Din.  All  alone?  Look  heah,  man,  doan  you  realize  dat 
I am  aroun'?  Why,  she's  safe  enough,  an'  so  is  her  dia- 
monds, while  I is  watchin'  ovah  her,  see? 

Mo.  {laughing) . Ho,  ho,  ho!  You  is  a great  protection, 

! you  is ! 

Din.  Wha'  dat?  Wha’  dat,  you  say?  {Grabs  Mose 
and  shakes , punches , pounds , and  kicks  him  until  he  is  all 
broken  up,  then  runs  him  off  door,  L.  3 E.) 

Enter  Vera  Stanley,  followed  by  Reginald,  door , R.  2 E. 

Vera.  I wonder  what  has  happened  to  ruffle  Dinah’s 
temper  ? She  is  generally  so  quiet. 

Reginald  {laughing) . Possibly  this  is  her  “hoodoo"  day. 
At  any  rate,  I trust  it  is  nothing  more  serious.  But,  really, 
Mrs.  Stanley,  it  is  foolhardiness  in  the  extreme  for  you  to 
expose  yourself  to  the  chance  of  personal  injury  by  remain- 
ing essentially  alone  in  an  out-of-the-way  place,  like  this. 

Ver.  Possibly  so.  But  it  is  the  best  I can  do. 

Reg.  Can't  I persuade  you  to  accept  my  mother's  hos- 
; pitality  until  

Ver.  {stopping  him).  No,  no,  Mr.  Spofiford;  do  not 
create  hopes  that  can  never  be  realized.  Dreams  that  can 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


never  come  true.  Consider  the  futility  of  such  a thought, 
and  dismiss  it  from,  your  mind. 

Plaintive  music , pp. 

Reg.  You  will  not  even  permit  me  to  hope? 

Ver.  I have  told  you  there  has  been  a shadow  cast  upon 
my  life,  so  deep  that  it's  eradication  is  impossible.  It  is  a 
cloud  that  obscures  every  possible  ray  of  sunshine  from  my 
unhappy  existence. 

Reg.  Why  not  make  me  your  confidant?  I can  un- 
doubtedly assist  you 

Ver.  Impossible.  I dare  not,  even  if  I would.  Pray 
do  not  insist.  Outside  help  will  be  futile.  There  is  no  es- 
cape but  death. 

Reg.  Vera!  I beg  of  you  

Ver.  ( suppressing  a desire  to  yield).  No,  no!  We  must 
not  meet  again ! I shall  leave  this  place  forever!  We  have 
but  one  common  duty,  and  that  is  to  forget ! 

Reg.  ( seizing  her  hand  passionately) . I never  shall  for- 
get you! 

Enter  Mo.,  door  L.  3 E.  Conceals  himself  behind  the  cur- 
tains, and  listens. 


Reg.  If  I cannot  assist  you,  let  me  at  least  share  your 
sorrow ! 

Ver.  Any  explanation  I might  offer  would  but  emphasize 
the  utter  hopelessness  of  your  suit. 

Reg.  I cannot  accept  that  as  your  final  answer.  I have, 
fondly  imagined  that  you  cared  for  me — that  in  time  you 
might 

Ver.  For  mercy's  sake,  I beg  of  you 

Reg.  But  why  all  this  mystery?  Can  you  so  easily  for- 
get the  happy  hours 

Ver.  Can  you  not  realize  what  a sacrifice  this  means  tc 
me? 

Reg.  But  why 

Ver.  I know  what  you  would  say,  but  alas,  it  cannot 
be ! There  now,  please  go ! I will  write  you — in  an  hour 
you  shall  receive  a letter  explaining  all.  (Going,  R.) 

Reg.  ( following  her).  Not  good  bye? 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


9 


Ver.  Yes— it  must  be — good  bye  forever!  (Exit,  door , 
R.  2 E.) 

Reg.  Forever?  She  cannot  mean  it.  She  must  have 
learned  that  my  mother  has  insisted  that  I marry  my  cousin 
Lillian,  and  the  mere  suggestion  of  my  union  to  another  has 
offended  her.  Her  pride  has  been  wounded,  that  is  all.  I 
must  explain  to  her  that  no  amount  of  persuasion  can  lead 
me  to  forget  my  devotion  to  her.  ( Starts , R.  Stops.) 
But,  no< — she  is  piqued  now — I will  wait  until  a more  fa- 
vorable opportunity  presents  itself.  Meanwhile,  I will  ap- 
prise my  mother  of  my  firm  determination  to  wed  Vera 
Stanley,  or  no  one.  (Exit,  door  L.  3 £.) 

Stop  music. 

Mo.  (coming  from  behind  curtains).  Well,  what  d’ye 
think  ob  a young  man  goin’  again  the  wishes  ob  his  mother 
in  dat  way?  De  ole  woman  raise  de  debil  ef  she  done 
knowed  dat.  I wonder  what  she’d  give  me  ef  I peached  on 
de  young  feller,  an’  put  her  wise  to  what’s  goin’  on  ? 

Chester  appears  at  windoiv. 

Mo.  One  thing  suah,  I’se  got  ter  make  a raise  ob  some 
sort  mighty  quick,  er  dey’ll  be  a famine  in  pork  chops  in  de 
neighborhool  ob  my  stomach.  (Stealthily  picks  up  a dish 
from  the  table  and  tries  to  conceal  it  in  his  clothes .) 

Chester  opens  window  and  enters  cautiously . 

Chester  (coming  down , aside).  Some  one  here,  eh? 
Well,  I’ll  have  to  bluff  him  out.  (To  Mo.)  I’ve  caught  you 
at  it,  eh  ? ( Grabs  him. ) 

Mo.  (starting).  Caught  nuffin!  Can’t  yo  see,  I’se  jes 
polishing  up  dis  dish  foah  I fills  it  wid  fruit? 

Ches.  (astonished.  Releases  Mo.).  What!  Do  my 
eyes  deceive  me? 

Mo.  I done  knows  dat  voice.  I seen  it  afore.  (Turns 
to  Ches.  Their  eyes  meet.)  Well,  ef  it  ain’t  “Second  Story 
Bill,”  dressed  up  like  a gent’man ! 

Ches.  “Nigger  Mose !”  The  devil ! How  did  you  ever 
get  here? 


W THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW- 

Mo.  One  night,  when  de  guard  wasn't  lookin’,  I hid  ir 
a shoe-box.  Nex’  mawin’  somebody  very  carelessly  nailed 
down  the  cover  an  I was  shipped  out'n  de  penitentiary  tc 
a shoe  store,  an’  when  a young  feller  opened  dat  box,  an’  I 
jumped  out,  he  was  so  scared  he  fainted  dead  away,  an 
afore  anybody  knowed  what  was  de  matter,  I was  clean 
out’n  de  “hoop-skirts”  of  de  town.  But  how  did  you  all  git 
out’n  de  prison? 

Ches.  ( looking  around  cautiously ).  Hush!  I watched 
my  chance— caught  the  keeper  off  his  guard— brained  him 
with  a hammer — exchanged  my  prison  suit  for  his  clothes — 
walked  out  of  the  prison,  and  there  you  are!  Simple  as 
the  nose  on  your  face — when  you  know  how.  But  what  are 
you  doing  here?  Working? 

Mo.  Yes.  Workin’!  Same  as  you  is — disway — ( picks 
handkerchief  out  of  Chester’s  pocket ). 

Ches.  ( grabbing  handkerchief).  Well,  work  somebody 
else,  besides  me.  Who  lives  here? 

Mo.  ( half  whispering).  A young  widow,  with  diamonds 
enough  to  buy  the  town,  an’  a roll  of  bills  what’d  choke  a, 
cow,  ef  you  can  only  find  out  wha’  she  keeps  ’em. 

Ches.  Can’t  you  find  out? 

Mo.  I was  jes’  tryin’  to,  when  you  come  along  an’ 
blocked  me  game. 

Ches.  Very  well.  We  can’t  both  work  the  same  biz  at 
once.  I 11  go  back  outside.  You  stay  in  here,  and  as  soorf 
as  you  locate  the  swag,  you  can  call  me  with  the  same  oldj 
signal  whistle  we  used  in  the  penitentiary.  Be  sure  the- 
coast  is  clear  before  you  call  me,  for  I’m  getting  tired  ofi 
taking  lives,  and  would  like  to  do  this  job,  if  possible,  with-! 
out  shedding  any  blood.  [Going,  C.)  Mind  you,  no 
treachery,  now.  You  know  how  handy  I am  with  the  gun, 
if  I have  to  be.  [Exit,  window.) 

# Mo.  Well,  his  showin’  up  now  is  de  best  piece  ob  luck 
I se  had  in  a dog’s-age.  I was  near  losin’  ma  nerve  to  do  dis 
job,  but  now  dat  “Second  Story  Bill”  is  yeah  ter  help  me,  1 
ainl’t  scared  ob  nufifin,  nohow. 

Din.  [outside,  L.  3 E .).  Wha  dat  miserable,  low-down  ! 
“Nigger  Mose”? 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


11 


Mo.  ( shivering  and  showing  every  evidence  of  being 
afraid).  Dat  is,  I aint  scared  ob  nuffin,  ’ceptin’  her.  I done 
reckon  she  am  de  boss  ob  de  whole  Tater  patch. 

Enter  Din.,  door  L . 3 E. 

Din.  Here,  you!  Wat  you  standby  yah  doin’  nuffin 
foah?  Come  on,  yeah,  an’  make  youself  useful.  Take  dis 
yeah  letter  down  to  de  village  foah  de  missus,  an’  mind  you 
doan  waste  no  time  about  it,  nohow.  ( Hands  letter  to  Mo.) 

Mo.  ( taking  letter.  Aside).  It’s  de  letter  “explainin' 
all.”  Dat’s  agwine  ter  cost  somebody  some  money. 

Din.  Well,  why  doan  you  go? 

Mo.  What  dye  think  I is — a messenger  boy,  ter  be 
runniiT  errands? 

Din.  ( making  ready  to  chastise  Mo.)  Who  yo’  talkin’ 
to?  ( Rolling  up  her  sleeves.)  Who  yo’  talkin’  to,  eh? 
( Squaring  off.)  I’ll  show  you  who’s  de  messenger  boy! 
( Grabs  Mo.  and  whirls  him  around.)  Now  git!  See? 
Deliver  dat  letter,  an’  mind  yo’  be  quick  about  it,  an’  dat’s 
all  dere  am  to  it,  see?  ( Grabs  Mo.  and  fires  him  out  bodily, 
door,  L.  3 E.)  Dat’s  de  way  to  settle  de  “marriage  ques- 
tion.” No  use  wastin’  words  about  it.  Jes’  let  de  ole  man 
. know  you’s  de  boss,  an’  dat  am  de  reason  why,  because 

Enter  Vera,  door  R.  2 E. 

Vera  ( laughing ).  Well,  Dinah,  what  seems  to  be  the 
matter  ? 

Din.  Oh,  nuffin’.  Jes’  teachin’  my  ole  man  ter  respect 
his  superiors,  dat’s  all. 

Ver.  I’m  afraid  you  have  undertaken  a hopeless  task. 
Men  are  not  inclined  to  be  easily  controlled. 

Din.  Doan  know  nuffin’  ’bout  de  “incline,”  but  dat  ole 
man’ll  mind  what  I has  to  say,  er  I’se  gwine  to  puncture  his 
ole  cranium  fer  him,  en’  dat’s  all  dere  am  to  it. 

Ver.  I am  inclined  to  believe  that  women  as  a rule  would 
be  more  happy,  if  a disposition  such  as  yours  were  more 
prevalent. 

Din.  Yas.  I doan  know  wat  you  all’s  talkin’  ’bout,  but 
I’se  sure  it’s  right.  You  couldn’t  say  nuffin’  agin  a man 


U OF  ILL  LIB. 


12 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


what’d  be  wrong.  ( Suddenly  remembering  her  cooking .) 
Well,  I'll  be  dog-goned  ef  I aint  left  dat  custard  pie  in  de 
oven  all  dis  time ! It’ll  be  spiled  as  suah’s  yotPf  a foot  high ! 
{Exit,  hastily , door , L.  3 E.) 

Plaintive  music , pp. 


Ver.  Poor  Dinah  imagines  she  has  lots  of  trouble,  but 
how  little  does  she  imagine  the  suffering  I am  obliged  to 
undergo!  How  for  years  I have  been  compelled  to  keep  a 
secret,  that  is  slowly  but  surely  wearing  my  once  happy  life 
down  to  a mere  wretched  existence!  And  just  as  I had 
nearly  overcome  the  bitter  struggle  and  was  schooling  my- 
self to  bear  with  fortitude  the  galling  loneliness  of  my  sol- 
itary life,  now  a new  torture  appears  to  complete  my  mis- 
ery! When  I thought  that  every  spark  of  womanly  af- 
fection was  securely  buried  in  the  oblivion  of  my  unhappy 
past,  then  I awake  from  the  serene  contemplation  of  res- 
ignation to  my  fate,  to  find  a new  temptation  gnawing  away 
at  my  very  heart-strings ! I am  compelled  to  face  the  real- 
ization that  I love  and  am  loved ! A thought  that  with 
others  is  ofttimes  the  crowning  happiness  of  an  uneventful 
life ! A harbinger  of  joy  as  welcome  to  them  as  the  awaken- 
ing of  a new  dawn  of  all  creation ! Yet  to  me  there  appears 
but  another  cloud  to  the  misery  that  so  completely  en- 
shrouds my  very  soul ! Naught  but  an  additional  reason  for 
burying  the  secret  which  has  again  become  my  constant 
thought ! Striking  new  terror  to  my  overburdened  heart ! 
( Suddenly  stops . Rings  table  bell.)  I must  not  allow  my- 
self to  become  overpowered  by  these  thoughts. 

Stop  music. 


Enter  Din.,  door , L.  3 E. 

Din.  Heah  I is,  ma’am. 

Ver.  Has  my  letter  been  delivered  to  Mr.  Spofford? 
Din.  Yes,  indeed,  ma’am. 

Ver.  Very  well.  A little  fresh  air  may  be  of  benefit  to 
me.  You  may  order  up  the  carriage,  and  remember,  I am 
at  home  to  no  one.  {Exit,  door,  R.  2 E.) 

Din.  Poah  missus ! I wonder  wat  she  worry  ’bout  all 


vIM  U*  i 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


13 


de  time?  I bet  if  I had  all  her  money,  I wouldn't  worry 
'bout  nuffin'. 

Enter  Mo.,  door  L.  3 E.,  dressed  in  Salvation  Army  suit . 

Mo.  ( sings  a line  of  “Glory  Hallelujah!") . 

Din.  Now  what  you  been  up  to? 

Mo.  Dinah,  I'se  reformed.  'Deed  I has.  I’se  j'inea  de 
Salvation  Army. 

Din.  Salvation  nuffin'!  You  can't  come  no  such  game 
as  dat  on  me.  You'se  been  stealin'  agin,  dat's  wat's  de 
matter,  an'  all  you  could  lay  yer  han's  on  was  dat  coat  an’ 
cap  an'  umbrella.  You  better  hurry  up  an'  take  'em  back 
foah  you  gits  arrested  agin. 

Mo.  You's  talkin'  foolish,  woman.  I aint  done  nuffin' 
ter  git  arrested  fer.  You  jes'  wait  till  de  Salvation  Army 
comes  around  agin,  an'  see  ef  I aint  a member. 

Din.  Member  nuffin' ! You  couldn't  convince  me  dat 
you'se  reformed,  not  ef  you  stand  dere  an'  swear  on  a stack 
of  bibles  as  high  as  you  head.  Why,  you  low  down,  good- 
fo'-nuffinf  nigger  scamp ! Dere  ain't  no  moah  salvation  in 
you  den  dey  is  in  a rotten  egg. 

Mo.  Say,  where's  you  missus  ? 

Din.  What  you  want  wif  my  missus? 

Mo.  I done  got  a answer  fer  her. 

Din.  Gin  it  ter  me. 

Mo.  No,  I was  to  deliver  it  to  her  pussonally. 

Din.  Gin  it  ter  me,  I say ! 

Mo.  Go  on,  woman.  Doan  you  get  me  inter  no  trouble, 
I guess  I knows  wat  I'se  done  told  ter  do. 

Din.  Well,  I'll  call  her,  but  you  stay  right  here,  an'  mind 
yer  keep  yer  han's  off'n  things,  d'ye  hear?  (Exit,  door T 
R.  2 E.) 

Mo.  ( Looks  around  cautiously,  then  removes  laces,  rib- 
bons, etc.,  from  table  and  escritoire  and  stuffs  them  into  the 
umbrella,  constantly  on  the  watch,  going  to  window,  look- 
ing out,  etc.  Finally  hears  a noise,  goes  dozvn  L.  Seats 
himself  with  the  umbrella  between  his  legs.) 

Enter  Ver.  R.  2 E. 


14 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


Ver.  My  servant  tells  me  you  have  a message  for  me. 

Mo.  Yas’m. 

Ver.  She  said  it  was  something  in  reference  to  the  Sal- 
vation — — • 

Mo.  Yes’m.  Your  salvation. 

Ver.  My  salvation!  What  do  you  mean? 

Mo.  ( holding  out  letter ).  Does  you  remember  dis  yeah 
envelope  ? 

Ver.  My  letter!  Give  it  to  me! 

Mo.  Yes’m.  ( Putting  it  in  his  pocket .)  But  how  much 
is  I goin’  ter  git  fer  givin’  it  ter  yer? 

Ver.  ( surprised  at  his  change  of  manner ).  What  do  you 
mean  ? 

Mo.  Jes’  wat  I done  tole  yer.  How  much  is  you  gwine 
ter  pay  fer  it? 

Ver.  Give  me  that  letter  instantly,  or  I shall  call  for 
help. 

Mo.  ( jumping  between  her  and  door , R.  2 E.).  None  obi 
dat!  Now,  see  here,  lady,  I doan  mean  no  harm  to  yer* 
but  I done  knows  all  about  wat’s  in  dat  letter,  an’  I done 
reckon  it’s  worth  about  one  hundred  dollars  to  you,  same, 
as  ’tis  ter  me. 

Ver.  (angered).  A hundred  dollars?  (Aside.)  The 
secret  of  my  life  in  such  hands!  (To  Mo.)  And  if  I re- 
fuse? (See  light  plot.) 

Mo.  Den  I specs  I better  be  movin’  on. 

Hurry  music , pp.,  till  curtain. 

Ver.  This  is  a shameful  outrage,  but  since  you  persist' 
in  taking  such  an  unfair  advantage  of  me,  I suppose  I musti 
submit.  (Goes  to  escritoire.  Takes  a key  and  unlocks  a 
drawer. ) 

Mo.  (aside).  I wish  she’d  be  quick  afore  “Second  Story 
Bill”  comes.  He’d  kill  me  if  he  caught  me  workin’  dis  gag 
on  de  side. 

Ver.  Bring  me  the  letter,  and  you  shall  have  your  re- 
ward. 

Mo.  (aside.)  I was  a fool  not  to  ask  her  twice  as  much. 
(To  Ver.)  Look-a-yere,  missus,  de  market  price  done  gone 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


15 


up.  Dat  letter  gwine  ter  cost  yer  jes’  twice  as  much  as — * 
( During  this  speech  he  goes  up  to  Ver.) 

Ver.  ( Suddenly  turns  and  shoves  a revolver  in  his  face  j. 
Give  me  that  letter ! 

Mo.  ( starting  back  in  alarm).  Yas’m.  I gib  you  de  let- 
ter. Dat  what  I came  fer. 

Ver.  Quick!  The  letter! 

Mo.  ( trembling ).  Don’t  shoot!  Don’t  shoot!  ( Busi- 

ness of  trying  to  take  letter  from  his  pocket,  but  his  hand 
trembles,  so  that  he  cannot  do  so.) 

Ches.  appears  at  window. 

Ver.  Hurry  up ! 

Mo.  Don’t  shoot!  ( Trembling .)  Don’t  shoot! 

Ches.  ( coming  down,  grabs  revolver  from  Ver.).  Allow 
me.  ( Lays  revolver  on  escritoire.) 

Ver.  {perceiving  Ches.,  screams). 

Ches.  {perceiving  Ver.).  Well!  This  is  a surprise! 

Ver.  What!  You!  Alive! 

Ches.  Why  not?  Did  you  think  and  hope  that,  my 
days  of  usefulness  being  ended,  I had  departed  for  another 
sphere  ? 

V er.  Go  ! Do  you  hear  ? Go ! Do  not  dare  to  remain 
or  I shall  call  for  help. 

Ches.  Why  call  for  help  when  I am  here? 

Ver.  You? 

Ches.  Oh,  now,  don’t  be  unreasonable.  My  coming 
here  was  purely  accidental,  but  now  that  I am  here,  let  us 
forget  the  past  and  start  life  all  over  again. 

Ver.  No,  never  again! 

Ches.  Now,  Vera,  don’t  be  stubborn.  {Advances  toward 
her.) 

Ver.  {recoiling) . No,  no,  I say! 

Ches.  {throzvs  his  arms  around  Vera). 

Ver.  {struggling).  Let  me  go!  Let  me  go,  I say! 

Mo.  Doan  make  so  much  noise!  Youse’ll  hab  de  cops 
in  yere  de  nex’  t’ing  yo’  knows!  {Going  up  A 

Ches.  {savagely).  Come  back,  you  fool!  Mind  the 


16 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW 


door,  and  let  no  one  in.  (To  Vera)  Now,  you  keep  quiet, 
or  I'll— 

Ver.  (breaking  from  him).  Help!  Help! 

Enter  Reg.,  through  window. 

Ver.  Save  me!  Help!  (Falls  at  Reginald's  feet.) 
Reg.  (snatches  revolver  from  escritoire). 

Ches.  ( recoils , then  recovers  and  starts  toward  Vera). 
Reg.  Another  step  and  I fire ! (Pointing  revolver  at 
Ches.) 

Ver.  (arising.)  No,  no!  For  my  sake,  don't  fire. 
(Springs  in  front  of  Reg.) 

Mo.  No!  For  all  our  sakes,  don't  fire.  (Raises  the  um- 
brella as  if  to  protect  himself , and  the  laces , ribbons , etc., 
fall  all  over  him.) 

Reg.  (gently  putting  Ver.  aside,  advances  toward  Ches.). 
What  are  you  doing  here? 

Ches.  (pointing  to  Ver.).  Perhaps  the  lady  would  pre- 
fer to  answer. 

Ver.  (buries  her  face  in  her  hands  and  sobs). 

Ches.  No?  Well,  then,  if  she  will  not  speak,  I suppose 
I must!  (Insolently.)  I am  here  by  the  right  of  a hus- 
band! 

(Reg.  stands  thunderstruck.  Ches.  in  triumph.  Ver.  with 
head  bowed , cowers  with  shame.  Mo.  nearly  faints  from 
surprise. ) 


\ 


Swell  music  to  ff. 

QUICK  CURTAIN. 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


17 


ACT  II. 

Scene — Same  as  Act  I.  One  year  is  supposed  to  have 
elapsed  between  Acts  I.  and  II. 

Plaintive  music  at  rise. 

Discovered,  Ver.  and  Cues. 

Ver.  Is  this  persecution  never  to  cease  ? You  promised 
never  to  bother  me  again,  in  consideration  of  the  sum  of 
money  I gave  you  the  last  time  we  met. 

Ches.  But  that  was  a year  ago. 

Ver.  Just  a year  ago  to-day. 

Ches.  Many  * things  have  changed  in  that  time.  My 
good  resolution  was  one  of  them.  I should  not  have  both- 
ered you  if  it  were  not  necessary.  It  is  imperative  that  I 
secure  a large  sum  of  money  at  once. 

Ver.  The  same  old  story. 

Ches.  If  you  will  furnish  me  the  amount,  I will  promise 
that  you  shall  never  see  me  again. 

Ver.  You  forget  that  your  promises  can  have  no  weight 
with  me.  And  even  if  they  did,  I have  no  money  to  offer 
you. 

Ches.  You  can  get  it  if  you  want  to. 

Ver.  Impossible ! And  even  so,  why  is  it  that  I should 
be  constantly  expected  to  suffer  from  your  misdoings?  Have 
you  no  shame  at  all? 

Ches.  Why  should  I? 

Ver.  No,  it  is  evident  that  you  have  none.  As  I look 
back  on  your  past  life,  I can  see  absolutely  no  evidence  of 
any  feeling  whatsoever  except  an  all  absorbing  selfishness, 
which  has  undoubtedly  hastened  your  downfall.  Do  you 
realize  what  our  family'has  done  for  you  ? Do  you  remember 
how,  when  an  orphan,  you  were  taken  in  by  my  father  and 
treated  like  a son?  Do  you  remember  that  you  repaid  his 
kindness  by  robbing  him  of  the  affections  of  his  only  daugh- 
ter, whom  you  influenced  to  elope — 


18 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


Ches.  Yes,  we  were  married  secretly,  afterward  for- 
given, and  as  pater  did  not  see  fit  to  supply  us  with  suffi- 
cient funds  for  our  proper  maintenance,  it  became  necessary 
for  me  to  devise  other  methods  of  obtaining  money— 

Ver.  Which  proved  to  be  but  a revival  of  the  vicious 
habits  to  which  you  had  grown  accustomed,  and  to  conceal 
which  you  married  me,  merely  as  a blind  to  protect  yourself. 

Ches.  You  are  not  at  all  complimentary  to  yourself. 

Ver.  Then  as  a last  resort  you  turned  to  forgery — 

Ches.  That  will  do!  I paid  the  penalty  of  that  crime, 
and  thus  earned  the  right  to  forget  it.  At  any  rate,  it  has 
nothing  to  do  with  my  present  position.  I repeat  that  I need 
money — I must  have  it,  and  you  are  in  a position  to  help 
me. 

Ver.  I say  it  is  impossible ! 

Ches.  You  must ! 

Ver.  I shall  not! 

Ches.  ( seizing  her).  You  will,  or — 

Ver.  (firmly).  Well?  Or — ? 

Ches.  Take  care  how  you  taunt  me ! I am  rapidly  los- 
ing my  patience ! 

Ver.  I do  not  fear  you. 

Ches.  Well,  by  heaven,  you  shall!  Til  look  up  this  fel- 
low Spofford  and  tell  him  all! 

Ver.  You  may  do  so  if  you  like.  I have  neither  seen 
nor  communicated  with  Mr.  Spofford  since  that  unhappy 
day  of  a year  ago,  and  the  only  deviation  from  my  other- 
wise uninterrupted  seclusion  has  been  your  unwelcome  in- 
trusion of  to-day,  which  I trust  you  will  abbreviate  as  much 
as  possible.  (Exit,  door  R.  2 E.) 

Stop  music. 

Ches.  (astounded).  Well!  Am  I dreaming?  She  de- 
fies me  completely,  but  I must  either  persuade  her  to  yield 
or  resort  to  harsh  methods ! That  amount  of  money 
stands  between  me  and  a new  life  with  one  who  has  no 
knowledge  of  my  past,  one  who  will  bring  me  the  combined 
attractions  of  youth,  beauty  and  fortune.  I must  see  Vera 
again.  She  absolutely  will  have  to  raise  that  money  for 
me,  and  that’s  all  there  is  to  it!  (Rings  table  bell.) 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


19 


Enter  Mov  door  L.  3 E . 

Mo.  Did  you  ring,  sah  ? 

Ches.  Yes.  I desire  to  see  your  mistress  at  once. 

Mo.  Yaas,  sah.  What  am  de  name,  sah? 

Ches.  Well,  if  it  ain’t  “Nigger  Mose,”  and  asking  me 
what  my  name  it.  That’s  a good  joke. 

Mo.  I ain’t  “Nigger  Mose”  no  moah.  I’se  reformed, 
I is.  Jes’  plain  “Mose”  now. 

Ches.  Reformed,  nothing!  You’d  crack  a safe  this  min- 
ute, if  you  only  had  a chance. 

Mo.  Doan  talk  to  me  ’bout  “crackin’  safes”  an’  sich  like, 
man.  I tell  yo’  I is  reformed,  an’  doan  hab  nuffin’  ter  do 
wif  any  sich  things,  so  go  long  an’  doan  talk  dat  way  ter  me. 
{Exit  door  R.  2 E.) 

Ches.  Well!  The  world  must  be  coming  to  an  end! 
And  to  think  of  “Nigger  Mose”  coming  the  sanctimonious 
gag  on  me,  after  all  the  queer  jobs  we’ve  worked  together. 
I’d  better  hurry  up  and  see  Vera  or  the  first  thing  I know 
I’ll  be  reforming  myself  before  I get  that  money.  {Exit, 
door  R . 2 £.) 

Enter  Din.,  door  L.  3 E.,  showing  in  Mrs.  Spofford  and 

Lillian. 

Din.  Yaas’m.  Too  bad.  Missus  jes’  gone  out,  but  if 
you’ll  jes’  hab  a seat  fer  a few  minutes,  I done  spec  she’ll 
be  back  by  dat  time. 

Mrs.  Spofford.  Very  well.  We  will  wait  a few  mo- 
ments. 

Din.  T’ank  ye,  ma’am.  I done  send  up  de  missus,  jes’ 
as  soon  as  she  come  back.  {Exit,  door  L.  3 £.) 

Lillian.  Oh,  I’m  so  glad  I have  found  Vera  at  last. 
She  always  was  a regular  sister  to  me.  Talk  about  “good 
fellows  !”  She  was  certainly  a “peach  !” 

Mrs.  S.  A “peach?”  Such  slang  expressions!  And 
from  an  heiress ! Now,  when  I was  a girl 

Lil.  Yes,  but  you  must  remember  that  times  have 
changed  very  materially  since  that  epoch. 

Mrs.  S.  I am  very  much  afraid  they  have,  and  for  the 
worse. 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


Lil.  Why,  I won’t  be  able  to  talk  at  all  very  soon,  tf 
you  persist  in  “jumping  on  me”  every  time  I open  my 
mouth ! 


Mrs.  S.  “Jumping  on  you!”  Worse  and  worse! 

Lil.  Well,  “calling  me  down,”  then,  if  that  suits  you  any 
better.  Say,  was  cousin  “Reggie”  “dead  gone”  on  Vera? 

Mrs.  S.  “Dead  gone?”  Mercy  on  us! 

Lil.  Oh,  well,  I suppose  I should  say  “deeply  attached.” 

Mrs.  S.  He  was  certainly  madly  enough  in  love  to  enter 
upon  a perfect  debauch  of  recklessness  that  nearly  broke  my 
heart. 

Lil.  But  dear  Vera  wasn’t  to  blame  for  that. 

Mrs.  S.  It  is  true  that  I may  have  judged  her  rather 
harshly,  but  nevertheless  she  must  have  been  in  a certain 
degree  responsible  for  his  continued  absence  from  home. 

Lil.  Oh,  he  kept  out  of  sight  because  I was  around. 
You  were  trying  to  compel  him  to  marry  me — a happening  •• 
which  neither  he  nor  I could  “find  on  our  maps.”  That  is, 
“not  so’s  you  could  hardly  notice  it.” 

MrS'.  S.  You  seem  to  forget  that  it  is  my  duty  to  see  i 
that  the  finances  of  the  family  are  suitably  settled  in  the 
proper  hands  before  I depart  this  life. 

Lil.  Which  is  a long  way  off,  yet.  Anyhow,  give  things 
a chance  and  they  will  “swing  into  line”  all  right  in  time. 

Mrs.  S.  We  had  better  be  going.  Mrs.  Stanley  may 
call  upon  us  to-morrow. 

Lil.  Well,  I expect  to  see  her  to-night,  if  I have  to  come; 
back  and  “camp  out.” 

i 


Enter  Ches.,  door  R.  2 E. 


Ches.  (to  Lil.).  Why,  Miss  Stanhope,  this  is  a most 
unexpected  pleasure.  (Aside.)  I wonder  what  she  is  do- 
ing here? 

Lil.  (Shaking  hands  with  Ches.).  I’m  delighted  to  see 
you.  (To  Mrs.  S.)  Aunty,  have  you  forgotten  Mr.  La 
Grange  ? 

Mrs.  S-  (coldly  surveying  Ches.  through  her  eyeglass). 
Oh,  yes,  Mr.  La  Grange,  I believe,  was  the  gentleman  who 
tuned  the  piano  so  nicely. 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


2i 


Lil.  (disgustedly) . “Tuned  the  piano?  Why,  he  saved 
my  life  by  carrying  me  down  the  ladder  when  the  hotel  was 
on  fire. 

Mrs.  S.  Oh,  yes.  That  was  the  time  your  diamonds  were 
stolen,  and  the  police  insisted  it  must  have  been  done  by 
somebody  who  was  accustomed  to  climbing  up  to  the  second 
story.  I think  they  designated  him  as  “Second-story  Wil- 
liam,'” or  something  of  that  sort. 

Ches.  (aside) . She  is  closer  to  the  truth  than  she  thinks 
for. 

Lil.  You  must  be  sure  to  call  upon  us,  Mr.  La  Grange. 
Aunty  will  be  so  pleased,  Fm  sure.  Won’t  you,  Aunty? 
(Mrs.  S.  looks  bored.)  I shall  expect  you  soon.  Now,  don’t 
forget. 

Mrs.  S.  Really,  you  must  ask  Mr.  Strange  (Lil.  smiles 
at  Ches.)  to  excuse  you.  (To  Ches.)  You  may  tell  Mrs. 
Stanley  that  we  called.  (Exit  grandly , door  L.  3 E.) 

Ches.  (aside).  She  evidently  takes  me  for  a servant. 

Lil.  (to  Ches.)  Don’t  mind  Aunty.  She  means  all 
right.  Call  to-morrow  if  you  can.  You  have  the  address 
Till  then,  au  revoir.  (Exit,  door  L.  3 E.) 

Enter  Dinv  door  R.  2 E. 

Din.  Mrs.  Stanley  hab  returned  and  will  be  here  right 
away  quick. 

Ches.  The  ladies  have  gone.  (Aside.)  I must  see  to  it 
that  Lillian  and  Vera  do  not  meet,  or  it  will  be  all  off  with 
me.  I wonder  what  cursed  fate  brought  them  together. 
Well,  I have  removed  obstacles  from  my  path  before  now. 

and  if  Vera  Stanley  comes  between  me  and  that  girl,  I’ll 

(Perceives  that  Din.  has  not  gone.)  I thought  I told  yovi 
the  ladies  had  gone. 

Din.  So  yo’  did,  sure  ’nuff. 

Ches.  (aside,  shrugging  his  shoulders) . I forgot  that  I 
had  no  place  here,  even  though  I am  the  lady’s  husband. 
Curse  her!  She  shall  give  me  that  money,  or  I’ll (Per- 

ceives Din.  still  watching  him,  surveys  her  in  a disgusted 
manner , and  exit,  door  L.  3 E.) 

Din.  I wondah  what  he  standin’  ’roun’  heah  mumblin'  to 


22 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


hisse  f bout  ? He  may  be  all  right,  but  I’se  gwine  ter  keep 
my  eye  peeled  on  him,  jes’  the  same.  {Exit,  door  L.  3 E.) 

Enter  Vera  and  Henry  Swart  wood,  door  R.  2 E. 

Henry.  You  say  that  your  husband  is  at  present  in  the 
house  ? 

Ver.  He  was  here  when  I left.  But  I rather  you  would 
spare  my  feelings  sufficiently  not  to  remind  me  of  my  mar- 
riage to  the  gentleman. 

Hen.  . Oh,  I see.  (Aside.)  There  is  something  strange 
about  this  case.  (To  Ver.)  But  you  say  he  persists  in  an- 
noying you  ? 

Ver.  Only  at  long  intervals,  when  he  runs  out  of  money. 

Hen.  Oh,  I see ; the  cashbox  is  the  attraction. 

Ver.  Exactly.  But  there  is  a limit  to  all  things.  I have 
supplied  him  with  funds  until  I realize  that  such  a thing  is 
no  longer  possible,  and  I wish  him  to  keep  away  from  me. 

Hen.  Quite  natural.  , 

Ver.  I wish  him  no  harm— he  is  guilty  of  no  especial 
wrongdoing.  I just  do  not  want  to  meet  him  again,  that  is 
all. 

Hen.  All  of  which  is  quite  right,  But  you  must  remem- 
ber  that  no  matter  how  clear  your  case  may  be,  yet  the  police 
are  powerless  to  protect  you  unless  you  can  enter  some  spe- 
cific charge  against  him.  Some  crime,  or  misdemeanor — 
then  I can  arrest  him. 

Ver.  But  I have  already  explained 

Hen.  Yes,  I know.  But  the  object  of  the  police  depart-  \ 
ment  is  to  prevent  crime,  and  it  cannot  deviate  from  its 
course  for  the  purpose  of  investigating  family  squabbles.  • ] 

Ver.  Then  I can  secure  no  redress  whatever? 

Hen.  You  can  bring  suit  against  him  in  the  civil  courts. 

Ver.  But  look  at  the  notoriety 

Hen.  That’s  what  people  get  for  not  being  more  careful 
about  whom  they  marry. 

.Ver.  And  I had  hoped  for  deliverance  from  his  in-  | 
trigues ! 

Hen.  (aside).  Intrigues,  eh?  (To  Ver.)  Well,  I’ll  do 
all  I can  to  help  you.  Have  you  got  a photograph  of  th^ 
gent? 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


23 


Ver.  I have  one  taken  some  years  ago. 

Hen.  Well,  that’ll  help  some. 

Ver.  I will  get  it  at  once.  Take  a seat,  won’t  you?  I 
shan’t  be  a moment.  {Exit,  door  R.  2 E.) 

Hen.  There’s  something  she’s  keeping  back  about  that 
husband  of  hers.  If  he  ain’t  a crook,  why,  I’ll  eat  my  hat. 
{Looks  the  room  over  carefully , and  sits , facing  door  R .) 

Enter  Ches.,  door  L.  3 E. 

Ches.  {coming  down , perceives  Hen.)  I beg  your  par- 
don I did  not  know  any  one  was  here. 

Hen.  That’s  all  right.  Take  a sit-down.  The  lady’ll  be 
back  directly.  {Aside.)  I wonder  if  he’s  the  “duck”  that 
:auses  all  the  trouble  ? 

Ches.  {aside).  I wonder  who  he  is?  {Walks  about 
L.,  humming  or  whistling  to  himself.) 

Hen.  {sizing  up  Ches.)  {Aside.)  Height,  five  foot- 
eight  {These  items  of  identification  should  be  made  to  con- 
form with  the  party  playing  the  part  of  Ches.),  brown  hair, 
brown  eyes,  weight  about — hum — seems  to  me  I’ve  seen  that 
guy  before. 

Ches.  {aside).  He’s  got  his  lamps  turned  on  me  full 
strength.  He  makes  me  nervous.  We  may  have  met  before. 
Anyhow,  I guess  I’ll  blow.  {To  Hen.  in  a drazding  tone.) 
Mrs.  Stanley  must  have  forgotten  her  appointment  with  me. 
I shall  have  to  go  or  miss  a very  important  engagement. 

Hen.  Any  word  you  want  to  leave? 

Ches.  Oh,  no;  it’s  nothing  important,  anyhow.  {Aside.) 
Curse  him  for  coming  here  at  this  time!  {Exit,  carelessly, 
door  L.  3 E.) 

Hen.  Where  have  I seen  him  before?  {Reflecting.) 
Ah,  I have  it!  He  looks  just  like  a chap  we  used  to  call 
“Second-story  Bill.”  He  disappeared  for  a couple  of  years, 
and — come  to  think  of  it,  there’s  a large  reward  offered  for 
his  capture,  by  the  warden  of  Sing  Sing ! By  George ! This 
is  getting  interesting ! I wish  she’d  hurry  up.  I don’t  want 
Lo  lose  sight  of  him.  Two  thousand  dollars  isn’t  to  be  picked 
iip  every  day ! 


24  THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 

Enter  Ver.,  door  R.  2 E. 

Ver.  ( handing  photo  to  Hen.)  Here  is  the  picture,  sir. 

Hen.  {taking  photo).  Hum — nice  looking  chap — too  bad 
you  couldn’t  get  along  nicely  together.  (Aside.)  It’s  a pic- 
ture of  the  fellow  that  was  just  here,  and  he’s  “Second-story 
Bill”  just  as  sure  as  I’m  alive  ! 

V er.  Did  you  ever  meet  him  ? 

Hen.  No,  lady,  not  as  I knows  of — but  I’d  like  to. 
(Aside.)  I’ll  take  this  picture  and  compare  it  with  the  one 
at  police  ^headquarters,  and  if  it  is  him,  I’ll  start  out  on  a 
‘.hot-foot  ’ for  fair  until  I get  him  in  my  clutches. 

Ver.  Will  the  photo  be  of  any  assistance  to  you  ? 

Hen.  Yes,  lady;  I’ll  just  take  it  along.  Then  if  I sees  a 
fellow  what  looks  like  this  a-hanging  around  here,  I can 
come  and  drive  him  away.  Sort  of  shake  mv  apron  at  him 
and  say  “Shoo !”  you  know.  Good-day,  lady.  I’ll  see  you 
again  in  a day  or  so,  and  meanwhile,  if  he  bothers  you  any; 
more,  you  just  send  for  me,  and  don’t  forget  to  keep  him 
here  until  I come.  I’ll  give  him  a good  talking  to,  and  may- 
be able  to  influence  him  to  stay  away  from  here,  (aside) 
especially  if  I gets  the  handcuffs  on  him.  (To  Ver.)  Good- 
day,  lady.  (Exit  door  L.  3 E.) 

Plaintive  music,  pp. 

Ver.  (to  Hen.)  Good  day,  sir.  (Aside.)  I wonder  what 
will  be  the  outcome  of  all  this?  Little  do  you  realize,  Ches- 
ter La  Grange,  how  hard  I have  struggled  to  save  you  from, 
the  grim  embrace  of  the  prison  walls,  and  heaven  only  knows, 
how  much  longer  I shall  be  able  to  protect  you,  before  the 
law  takes  you  into  its  own  hands,  and  metes  out  to  you  the' 
punishment  which  you  so  richly  deserve ! Oh,  if  it  were  only 
all  over ! ( Half  falls  into  chair,  L. ) 

Enter  Lil.,  door  L.  3 E. 

Lil.  (placing  her  hands  over  Vera’s  eyes) . Guess  who 

it  is. 

Ver.  Dinah,  is  that  you? 

Lil.  No  ; guess  again. 

Ver.  I’m  afraid  I cannot. 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


25 


Lil.  Well,  you’re  a nice  one  not  to  remember  your  old 
playfellow.  ( Kisses  Ver.)  Now,  do  you  remember  me? 
{See  light  plot.) 

Stop  music. 

Ver.  Why,  Lillian,  this  is  indeed  a surprise! 

Lil.  Yes ; mighty  little  you  care.  Why  didn’t  you  let  me 
know  you  were  here  ? Why,  I never  should  have  found  you 
if  it  were  not  for  Aunty. 

Ver.  Aunty? 

Lil.  Sure.  My  Aunty  is  Mrs.  Spofford,  “Reggie’s” 
mother. 

Ver.  His  mother?  ( Turns  away  as  if  to  hide  her  emo- 
tion. ) 

Lil.  There ! Don’t  mind  me.  I know  all  about  it.  It 
certainly  made  a hit  with  me,  when  I found  out  that  you 
were  a widow.  Why,  it  seems  only  yesterday  that  we  were 
at  school  together.  It’s  perfectly  dreadful  that  he  should 
have  died  so  young. 

Ver.  {aside).  Died?  She  cannot  know! 

Lil.  Vera,  what  do  you  think?  I’m  caught,  too. 

Ver.  What  do  you  mean? 

Lil.  Why,  in  love,  you  goose ! And  what  do  you  think  ? 
We  both  simply  adore  each  other,  and  it’s  no  marriage  for 
money,  nor  anything  of  that  sort,  either. 

Ver.  {endeavoring  to  conceal  her  emotion).  You  will 
marry  Reginald,  of  course? 

Lil.  Of  course  not ! Why,  I don’t  see  how  you  can  even 
suggest  such  a thing!  You  never  would  even  believe  that 
we  were  cousins  if  you  could  see  how  indifferent  we  are  to 
each  other.  Why,  the  very  idea!  And  “Reggy”  just  dying 
of  love  for  you ! Why,  do  you  know  that  Aunty  called  here 
with  me  to-day?  And  she  has  no  objections  to  “Reggy” 
marrying  you,  if  he’ll  only  come  back  home  and  become 
reconciled  to  his  fond  mamma,  and  you’re  going  to  get  mar- 
ried, and  I’m  going  to  get  married,  and  we’ll  have  a double 
wedding,  and (Ver.  starts.)  Why,  what  is  the  matter? 

Ver.  Please  stop.  You  do  not  know  what  you  are  say- 
ing. Reginald  and  I can  never  marry ! 

Lil.  Oh,  don’t  say  that ! If  you  only  knew  how  much 


26 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


you  are  to  him ! Think  of  the  reckless  dissipation  which  ha: 
so  completely  overcome  him  since  you  cut  him  off!  I’n 
sure  he  would  be  just  as  good  as  could  be  if  vou  would  onh 
have  him. 

Ver.  Lillian!  I beg  of  you  to  drop  the  subject!  Ever) 
word  you  say  is  perfect  forture  to  me ! 

Lil.  Of  course,  if  you  don’t  care  for  him,  that  settles 
it ; but  I am  really  awfully  sorry  for  poor  “Reggy.” 

Ver.  ( deftly  changing  the  subject).  You  have  not  told 
me  about  your  own  love  affair.  When  and  how  did  it  all 
happen  ? 

Lil.  (laughing).  It  sounds  quite  like  a paper-back 
thriller — or  rather,  a sensational  melodrama.  Scene,  a 
hotel  at  Long  Branch— young  maiden  asleep  in  her  room— 
that’s  me.  Sudden  alarm  of  fire — smoke— flames,  etc.  Maid- 
en awakens  rushes  to  window  and  screams — no  response — ■ 
screams  again — ladder  appears  at  window — gallant  hern 
ascends  ladder— frightened  maiden  falls  into  his  arms,  and 
is  borne  to  safety  amid  the  enthusiastic  cheers  of  the  crowd 
below.  j 

Ver.  And  the  young  maiden  promptly  fell  in  love  with 
her  “hero,”  who  was  at  once  accepted  as  a suitor  for  her 
hand. 

Lil.  Well,  I should  say  not!  No  such  luck!  The  young 
maiden  was  immediately  snatched  away  by  an  over-zealous 
guardian  of  an  Aunty,  and  put  to  bed  in  another  room, 
while  the  “hero”  was  extended  thanks  in  the  shape  of  a 
reprimand  for  daring  to  hold  me  in  his  arms,  although 
Aunty  had  some  excuse  for  being  cross,  for  during  the  ex- 
citement my  diamonds  were  stolen  from  my  room. 

Ver.  Undoubtedly  the  fire  was  originally  started  by  the 
thief  as  an  excuse  for  robbery. 

(f  Lil.  Yes.  They  say  it  was  done  by  a fellow  called 
Second  Story  Johnny,”  or  something  of  that  sort. 

Ver.  (starting  at  the  name — recovers  her  composure). 
But  did  you  not  meet  your  “hero”  again  ? 

Lil.  Sure.  I met  him  the  next  morning  on  the  veranda,  and 
—and — well,  he  suggested  the  idea  our  going  to  fires  togeth- 
er for  the  rest  of  our  lives,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  you 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


27 


know,  and,  of  course,  I wished  there  would  be  another  fire 
that  night,  so  he  could  rescue  me  again,  and  he  popped  the 
question,  and  I said  “Yes,”  of  course,  and  just  then  Aunty 
came  up,  and  that  was  about  all. 

Ver.  And  did  your  aunt  favor  your  engagement? 

Lil.  Well,  I hope  you  don’t  think  I was  fool  enough  to 
tell  her!  She  doesn’t  know  anything  about  it. 

Ver.  Why,  you  don’t  mean  to  say  that  you  are  deceiving 
her? 

Lil.  Well,  you  see,  I didn’t  know  just  how  to  go  about 
it.  You  know,  he  is  of  a good  family,  “poor  but  proud,”  and, 
of  course,  there’s  going  to  be  a kick  when  Aunty  finds  out 
about  the  “poor”  part  of  it,  so  I thought  that  if  you  could 
only  tell  her  for  me  

Ver.  No,  no!  I couldn’t  tell  her. 

Lil.  Why,  you  know  you  could,  just  as  easy  as  not. 
Pshaw!  What  is  it  to  tell  an  aunt  that  her  niece  is  going 
to  marry  a hero?  Come,  now,  be  a good  fellow. 

Ver.  No;  I shall  not  even  meet  your  aunt. 

Lil.  Very  well.  I’ll  elope,  and  not  let  her  know  any- 
thing about  it,  until  we  are  married  and  settled  down. 

Plaintive  music , pp. 

Ver.  Lillian,  dear,  you  must  not  do  anything  of  the  sort. 
If  you  only  knew  how  many  there  are  who  in  the  inex- 
perience of  youth  have  been  influenced  to  set  aside  the  ad- 
vice of  those  older  than  themselves,  and  to  reject  the  love 
and  affection  of  parents  and  friends  for  the  sake  of  a mere 
passing  thought  from  a heartless  adventurer — who  have 
awakened  too  late  to  the  dread  realities  of  their  position, 
only  to  find  themselves  doomed  to  a life  of  misery  and 
despair. 

Lil.  Oh,  Vera,  do  not  suggest  such  thoughts  of  him. 
Look  at  his  portrait — see  how  noble  he  is,  and  then  admit 
the  wrong  you  have  done  him.  ( Removes  locket  from  chain 
and  hands  to  Ver.) 

Ver.  ( taking  locket ).  One  cannot  judge  nobility  from 
the  face.  It  must  be  a happy  combination  of  every  word, 
look  and  deed.  ( Moves  R.  so  as  to  hold  locket  in  the  light 
from  the  grate.) 


28 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


Lil.  If  you  only  knew  how  good  he  is. 

Ver.  ( with  her  back  to  Lil.,  looks  at  locket  and  screams} . 
(Aside.)  My  husband!  ( Drops  locket .) 

Lil.  ( picking  up  locket).  What  is  the  matter? 

Ver.  Nothing;  only  a pain  here!  (Places  her  hand  on 
her  heart  and  falls  into  a chair.) 

Lil.  Shall  I ring  for  the  servant? 

Ver.  No,  no!  I shall  be  all  right  directly.  I’ll  lie  down 
for  a few  moments.  (Rises  slozvly  and  starts  for  door  R. 
Nearly  falls.) 

Lil.  (catches  her  and  assists  her  to  exit,  door  R.  2 E. 
Returning,  and  looking  off,  door  R.)  There,  dear,  rest 
awhile.  I’ll  make  myself  at  home  until  you  are  feeling  bet- 
ter. (Removes  her  hat  and  places  it  on  escritoire.  Rear- 
ranges her  hair  in  front  of  mirror.  Examines  various  arti- 
cles on  escritoire  and  table.  Looks  out  door  R.)  Are  you 
feeling  better,  dear?  Why,  she’s  fallen  asleep!  Poor,  dear 
girl ! Something  has  occurred  to  make  her  very  unhappy ! 
Perhaps  she  thinks  more  of  “Reggie”  than  she  is  willing  to 
admit.  I bet  she  wouldn’t  be  unhappy  if  she  was  engaged 
to  as  nice  a fellow  as  I am.  (Sits  in  large  armchair,  in  front 
of  grate.)  I wonder  if  Vera  got  a good  look  at  his  picture. 
(Looking  at  portrait  in  locket.)  Dear  boy!  I hope  I shall 
see  him  to-morrow.  (Looks  steadily  at  portrait,  kisses  it, 
etc.  Gradually  falls  asleep.) 

Change  music  to  tremolo,  pp.  Swell  at  curtain. 

Ready,  Ches.  at  window  C. 

Ches.  (after  a pause,  pushes  back  the  curtains,  looks  into 
the  room  carefully  to  see  if  the  coast  is  clear,  slowly  enters 
and  pauses ).  She  is  asleep.  Now  is  my  chance  to  get  the 
money  and  rid  myself  of  her  forever!  (Goes  to  escritoire 
and  cautiously  opens  the  drawers  and  examines  contents. 
Finds  one  locked  and  pries  it  open.  Takes  out  necklace  and 
holds  it  up.)  Ah!  now  we  are  getting  at  it.  (Lil.  moves 
uneasily  in  the  chair.  Ches.  starts,  drops  the  necklace,  and 
draws  a knife  from  his  coat.)  She  is  waking  up,  eh?  Well, 
we’ll  soon  fix  that!  (Stealthily  tiptoes  behind  Lil.) 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


29 


Enter  Ver.,  door  R.  2 E. 

Ver.  ( perceives  Ches.  and  follows  him  with  quick,  noise- 
less-steps, and  just  as  he  is  about  to  strike  Lil.  with  the 
knife,  she  grasps  his  wrist.  Cues,  turns  in  alarm,  drops  the 
knife  and  looks  in  amazement  from  Ver.  to  Lil.  The  noise 
if  the  knife  dropping  partially  awakens  Lil.,  who  turns  as 
f disturbed,  disclosing  her  face  to  Ches.,  who  draws  back 
'n  horror.  Ver.  points  to  window  as  if  commanding  Ches. 
'0  exit,  and  he  is  so  affected  by  the  possibility  of  his  having 
killed  Lil.  that  he  gradually  obeys  her,  and  slozvly  backs  up 
C.  and  starts  to  exit  through  the  window.  Ver.  retains  her 
commanding  pose.  Lil.  sleeps  soundly.  Ches.  at  window, 
ib out  to  exit.  Picture.) 

QUICK  CURTAIN. 


ACT  III. 

Scene — A Rocky  Pass.  Palisades  of  the  Hudson.  Land- 
scape backing.  Huge  set  rocks  or  rock  wings,  up  back. 
Wood  wings,  R.  and  L.  See  Scene  Plot  for  stage  settings. 

Lively  music  until  curtain  up. 

Enter  Hen.  and  Mo.,  R.  2 E. 

Hen.  Now,  there’s  no  use  of  your  trying  to  back  out  of 
this  deal.  You’ve  got  to  help  me  land  “Second  Story  Bill’’ 
behind  the  bars,  and  that’s  all  there  is  to  it. 

Mo.  ( shaking  with  fear).  But,  Marse  Swartwood,  Bill 
is  a desp’ate  character.  He  done  knowed  I’se  reformed,  an’ 
when  he  see  me  he  done  gwine  ter  shoot  me,  suah’s  you 
born.  He  alius  did  shoot  fust  an’  ask  his  questions  after- 
wards. 

Hen.  Oh,  bosh!  There  ain’t  anybody  goin’  to  shoot 
you,  if  you  do  as  I tell  you.  In  fact,  he’ll  be  so  taken  by 
surprise,  I reckon  there  won’t  he  no  shootin’  done  at  all. 

Mo.  ( blubbering ).  Oh,  please,  Marse  Swartwood,  I done 


30 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


want  ter  go  home ! Dinah’ll  skin  me  alive  when  she  find  oul 
I done  gone  out  yere  without  fust  askin’  her. 

Hen.  You  seem  to  forget  that  you  are  wanted  back  ir 
the  penitentiary,  where  there  is  a good,  long,  unfinished  term 
waitin’  for  you. 

Mo.  Oh,  Lawd!  Don’t  say  nuffin’  ’bout  dat! 

Hen.  They’d  shoot  you  in  a minute,  if  they  couldn’t  gel 
you  alive 

Mo.  Oh,  Lawdy  ! Lawdy  ! Please  don’t  tell  nobody  whc 
I is ! 

Hen.  Then  stop  your  cussed  blubbering,  and  do  all  you 
can  to  help  me,  and  nobody’ll  be  the  wiser ; but  if  you  fail 
mie  or  get  the  least  bit  treacherous,  I’ll  land  you  back  in 
prison,  if  it’s  the  last  thing  I ever  do. 

Mo.  I do  it,  Marse,  I do  it!  Only  don’t  say  nuffin5 
moah  ’bout  dat  prison  business.  Doan  tell  nobody  who  I is ! 
Please,  Marse ! 

Hen.  Now,  when  was  the  last  time  you  saw  “Second 
Story  Bill”? 

Mo.  Yisterday  afternoon,  when  he  call  to  see  de  missus; 

Hen.  Just  before  I recognized  you,  eh? 

Mo.  Yes,  Marse  Swartwood;  I recomember. 

He^n.  ( taking  a pair  of  handcuffs  from  his  pocket  and 
showing  them  to  Mo.).  Do  you  know  what  these  are? 

Mo.  ( terrified ).  Oh,  Lawdy!  Lawdy!  Take  ’em  away* 
Take  ’em  away! 

Hen.  They’re  to  go  on  our  friend  Bill,  but  if  you  don’t 
mind  just  what  I say,  they’ll  go  on  you  instead. 

Mo.  Oh,  Marse  Swartwood,  I do  it ! ’Deed  I will ! 

Hen.  . Hush ! Here  comes  somebody ! Get  out  there 
behind  a tree,  and  don’t  let  anybody  see  you.  And,  mind 
you,  stay  there  until  I call  you.  ( Shoves  Mo.  off  L.  2 E.) 
I wonder  who  this  fellow  is?  I hope  he  won’t  stay  around 
here  long  enough  to  interfere  with  my  plans. 

Enter  Peg.,  R.  2 E. 

Reg.  (to  Hen.).  Pardon  me,  sir;  but  am  T addressing 
Mr.  La  Grange? 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


31 


Hen.  {aside).  Aha!  I wonder  what  his  game  is?  {To 
Reg.)  What  do  you  want  with  La  Grange? 

Reg.  I fail  to  see  of  what  interest  that  can  be  to  you* 
unless  you  are  Mr.  La  Grange. 

Hen.  It  is  of  more  interest  than  you  think  for.  But 
first  of  all,  let  me  inquire  your  name. 

Reg.  {stiffly).  I have  the  honor  to  be  the  young  lady’s 
cousin. 

Hen.  {aside).  So  there  is  a woman  in  the  case,  eh?  {To 
Reg.)  What  young  lady? 

Reg.  Say,  who  are  you,  anyway? 

Hen.  You’ll  find  out  soon  enough.  All  that’s  neces- 
sary fer  me  to  say  now  is  that  I am  on  to  this  little  game 
with  both  feet. 

Reg.  Game?  What  do  you  mean? 

Hen.  {eyeing  Reg.  sharply).  Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
you  don’t  know  ? 

Reg.  No  ; I must  confess  that  I do  not. 

Hen.  Oh,  come,  now ; you  may  as  well  own  up.  He’s 
sure  to  be  caught,  anyway. 

Reg.  Caught?  Who  is  going  to  be  caught,  and  what 
for? 

Hen.  {aside).  This  guy  is  either  very  slick  with  the 
“sanctimonious”  gag,  or  else  very  innocent. 

Reg.  Well,  since  you  prefer  not  to  explain  your  mys- 
terious allusions,  and,  in  fact,  seem  to  regard  me  with  some 
suspicion,  for  some  reason  quite  unknown  to  me,  permit 
me  to  introduce  myself,  with  the  hope  that  my  position  in 
life  may  be  a sufficient  guarantee  that  I am  in  no  way  con- 
nected with  any  affair  you  may  have  reference  to,  that  is  in 
any  degree  of  a questionable  nature.  {Hands  his  card  to 
Hen.) 

Hen.  {taking  card , reads).  Reginald  Spofford?  Why, 
You’re  just  the  chap  I was  anxious  to  meet!  And  to  think 
I was  fool  enough  to  connect  you  with  such  an  affair  as 
ihis ! 

Reg.  Now  that  you  seem  confident  as  to  whom  you  are 
addressing,  I trust  that  you  will  honor  me  with  an  explana- 
^ion  of  the  “affair”  to  which  you  allude. 


32 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


Hen.  ( confidentially ).  Hush!  I am  Swartwood,  of  the 
Central  (Office. 

Reg.  Then,  as  I naturally  inferred,  you  are  a detective? 

Hen.  Exactly.  You  are  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Stanley? 

Reg.  {starting).  Yes;  but  what  has  that  to  do  with  you? 

Hen.  Nothing,  much.  Only  I found  that  out  shortly 
after  I undertook  the  job,  and  naturally  inferred  that  you 
were  very  much  interested  in  her  welfare. 

Reg.  {anxiously) . Tell  me,  has  anything  happened? 

Hen.  No  ; but  I expect  a great  deal  to  happen  very 
shortly. 

Reg.  Do  not  hesitate  to  tell  me  all.  I may  be  of  some 
assistance  to  you. 

Hen.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a fellow  called  “Second 
Story  Bill?” 

Reg.  No;  I must  say  that  I did  not. 

Hen.  Well,  he  is  her  husband. 

Reg.  Whose  husband? 

Hen.  Why,  Mrs.  Stanley’s,  of  course. 

Reg.  Well ! And  how  did  he  ever  come  by  such  a natm 
as  that? 

Hen.  Huh  ! Ain’t  you  on  ? 

Reg.  No;  I must  say  that  I am  not. 

Hen.  Why,  a “second-story  man”  is  a fellow  who 
makes  a specialty  of  breaking  in  houses  by  way  of  the  sec- 
ond-story windows. 

Reg.  I begin  to  understand  you.  You  mean  to  say  that 
Mrs.  Stanley’s  husband  is  a thief? 

Hen.  Yes,  who’s  wanted  at  a dozen  different  places, 
more  especially  at  the  prison  which  he  escaped  from  about 
a year  ago. 

Reg.  {aside).  That  explains  Vera’s  dreaded  secret. 

Hen.  But  I don’t  think  she  knows  it.  She  merely  ac- 
cused him  of  annoying  her  by  his  constant  demands  for 
money.  She  didn’t  say  nothing  about  his  criminal  career. 

Reg.  {aside).  For  some  reason  Vera  is  trying  to  shield 
him. 

Hen.  Who  is  the  lady  you  mentioned  as  being  your 
cousin? 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


33 


Reg.  Lillian  Stanhope. 

Hen.  Oh,  yes ! She  called  upon  Mrs.  Stanley  yesterday 
m company  with  your  mother. 

Reg.  Yes. 

Hen.  What  has  she  to  do  with  La  Grange? 

Reg.  She  expects  to  marry  him,  that’s  all. 

Hen.  What ! 

Reg.  Fearing  my  mother’s  objection  to  the  match,  she 
; consented  to  meet  him  at  this  place,  but  changed  her  mind 
and  desired  me  to  request  him  to  come  directly  to  the  house. 

Hen.  Well,  this  is  the  limit!  Say,  do  you  know  who 
this  La  Grange  is  ? 

Reg.  No  ; I never  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  him. 

Hen.  Well,  he  and  “Second  Story  Bill”  are  one  and  the 
same  person. 

Reg.  (amazed).  What? 

Hen.  Yesterday  when  Mrs.  Stanley  asked  me  to  help  rid 
her  of  his  annoyances,  I asked  her  to  show  me  his  photo.  1 
at  once  recognized  it  as  a true  likeness  of  “Second  Story 
Bill,”  but  to  be  certain  of  my  man  I took  the  photo  to  head- 
quarters and  compared  with  the  one  on  exhibition  there. 
Then,  being  sure  of  what  I was  about,  I started  out  on  a 
hunt  for  him,  and  learned  that  he  had  assumed  the  name 
of  La  Grange,  and  had  a date  to  meet  some  gal  here  this 
afternoon,  and  I am  here  ahead  of  time,  prepared  to  nab  him 
the  minute  he  shows  up. 

Reg.  (aside).  Poor  Vera  and  poor  Lillian! 

Hen.  Now,  the  next  question  is,  can  I count  on  your 
assistance  ? 

Reg.  Under  the  circumstances  you  could  hardly  find  a 
more  willing  assistant. 

Hen.  Good!  (Looking  off , R.).  Why,  here  comes  a 
gal  now.  Is  she  your  cousin  ? 

Reg.  (looking  off , R.).  Yes.  She  must  have  grown  im- 
patient. 

Hen.  Well,  let’s  conceal  ourselves.  If  she’s  here,  he’s 
sure  to  show  up  pretty  soon.  (They  exit , L.  2 E.) 


34  THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 

Enter  Lil.,  R.  3 £. 

Lil.  ( appears  to  climb  up  and  dovun  over  the  rocks , and 
finally  comes  around  to  R.  2 E.  and  thence  to  C.)  I wonder 
wha|  could  have  happened  ? Either  Reggy  forgot  all  about 
coming  here  to  deliver  my  message,  or  else  Chester  has  been 
detained.  ( Looking  off , R.  2 E.)  Why,  there  comes  Vera. 

I wonder  what  she  can  want  here?  It  won’t  do  to  let  her 
see  me.  After  the  lecture  she  gave  me  last  night  she’d  be 
likely  to  tell  Aunty  the  whole  thing.  (Exit,  L.  3 E.) 

Enter  Ver.  and  Din.,  R.  3 £.  Ver.  appears  to  climb  over 
the  same  path  as  Lil.  did  at  her  entrance.  Din.  fol- 
lows her  slowly. 

Din.  Well,  dis  am  de  mos’  foolishes  t’ing  I ever  hearn 
tell  of.  (Slips.)  Idea  ob  breakin’  you’  neck  climbin’  over 
rocks,  when  you  got  a good  home  ter  stay  in ! 

Ver.  Hush,  Dinah;  we’ll  soon  be  there. 

Din.  (slipping  again).  Soon  be  somewhere,  suah  ’nuff. 
Ole  debbil  himse’f  couldn’t  stand  straight  on  dese  heah 
rocks.  i 

Ver.  (coming,  around  C .).  I am  positive  I saw  Lillian 
coming  in  this  direction.  I do  hope  I haven’t  missed  her.  I 
fear  she  has  arranged  a secret  meeting  with  Chester,  in 
spite  of  my  warning.  It  is  almost  certain  that  Detective. 
Swartwood  has  identified  him  as  “Second  Story  Bill,”  owing 
to  my  carelessness  in  letting  him  have  that  photo,  and  if  he  ; 
should  happen  to  trap  him,  at  this  place,  in  the  presence  of 
Lillian,  it  might  involve  her  in  a scandal  from  which  she 
would  be  likely  to  never  fully  recover. 

Din.  (comes  around  from  R.  2 £.,  slips  and  sits  down , [ 
Cf)  Well,  dog-gone  my  buttons!  I’se  done  killed  myse’f  at 
las’ ! Oh  ! Oh  ! Now,  who’s  gwine  ter  take  care  ob  poah 
missus  ? 

Ver.  (helping  Din.  up).  Come,  Dinah,  get  up.  You’re 
all  right  yet. 

Din.  (arising).  Is  I all  heah? 

Ver.  (laughing).  Why,  certainly! 

Din.  No. bones  broken?  (Feeling  of  her  arms.)  Suah 
I’se  all  heah? 

1 - fm 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


35 


! Ver.  There’s  absolutely  nothing  the  matter  with  you,  so 
:ome  along,  Dinah,  before  we  lose  track  of  Lillian.  (Exit, 

?.  i E.) 

Din.  Ef  I slip  ag’in  I know  I die  foah  suah.  (Exit  after 
/er.,  R.  i E.) 

Enter  Lil.,  L.  3 E. 

Lil.  Well,  thank  goodness,  I missed  her,  although  it 
ioes  seem  a pity  to  be  compelled  to  dodge  one’s  friends  in 
his  manner.  I think  I’ll  just  take  another  peep  at  his  let- 
er.  I may  have  mistaken  the  place.  (Looking  over  let - 
er.)  He  says  he  owes  “a  lot  of  money.”  Well,  I can't 
-eally  blame  him  for  that,  as  he  has  already  told  me  that 
le  is  dreadfully  poor,  and,  anyway,  it  will  help  to  settle 
ill  arguments  about  what  to  do  with  my  money.  It’s  posi- 
tively shameful  the  way  people  bother  folks  that  happen  to 
ie  a little  in  debt!  It’s  perfectly  lovely  of  him  to  say  that 
le  is  desirous  of  making  me  his  confidant,  and  telling  me  all 
ibout  his  troubles.  It  proves  that  he  has  the  most  implicit 
rust  in  me,  and  wants  me  to  have  the  same  in  him.  He 
>ays  he  will  be  compelled  to  leave  the  country,  as  he  can- 
lot  obtain  justice  here.  Poor  boy!  I suppose  he  means  to 
!;ay  he  has  the  world  against  him,  or  something  of  that  sort. 
[ wonder  if  he’ll  ask  me  to  go  with  him? 

Enter  Ches.,  R.  2 E. 

Ches.  Isn’t  my  little  one  somewhat  careless  to  come  out 
lere  with  such  a light  gown,  without  a wrap  of  some  sort  ? 
[’m  afraid  she  hasn’t  the  proper  amount  of  fear  of  colds, 
md  doctors,  and  things  of  that  sort.  (Places  his  rain  coal 
over  her  shoulders  and  embraces  her  lightly  and  kisses  her.) 

Lil.  Oh,  I’m  so  glad  to  see  you ! I was  afraid  I had 
jnissed  you. 

Ches.  I was  obliged  to  take  a round-about  way,  in  order 
0 avoid  some  people  I did  not  care  to  meet. 

Lil.  Oh,  yes,  I know.  It  was  those  horrid  old  creditors. 

Ches.  Yes.  (Aside.)  To  say  nothing  of  a few  Cen- 
:ral  Office  detectives,  who  were  following  me. 

Lil.  Oh,  how  romantic ! Do  you  know,  I feel  quite  like 
:he  leading  lady  of  the  drama,  and  Aunty  and  your  creditors 


36 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


and  a whole  lot  of  other  people  are  the  villains  of  the  play. 
Oh,  wouldn't  Aunty  lay  down  the  law  to  me  if  she  knew  I 
came  out  here  to  meet  you ! 

Ches.  It  was  my  only  chance  to  see  you.  I could  not 
bear  to  think  of  going  away  without  one  last  meeting. 

Lil.  Must  you  really  go  away? 

Ches.  My  only  chance  for  safety  will  be  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Atlantic.  To-night  I bid  farewell  to  America 
forever ! 

Lil.  Oh,  pshaw  ! But  why  must  you  go  so  soon  ? 

Ches.  It  is  imperative  that  I shall  leave  immediately. 
( Turning  to  her  suddenly.)  Shall  I be  compelled  to  go 
alone  ? 

Plaintive  music , pp. 

Lil.  ( afraid  of  herself ).  Don't!  Don't  ask  me  such 
questions  as  that. 

Ches.  Is  your  love  for  me  strong  enough  to  warrant 
your  breaking  the  ties  which  bind  you  to  this  place,  and  to 
leave  with  me  for  another  land  and  assist  me  in  starting 
life  all  over  again? 

Lil.  If  your  debts  were  paid,  what  would  be  the  neces- 
sity of  leaving  this  country?  Are  there  not  greater  oppor- 
tunities here  than  anywhere  else  ? 

Ches.  Quite  true.  But,  “though  the  wound  be  cured, 
there  yet  remains  the  scar."  No  matter  how  hard  we  may 
try  to  retrieve  our  past  errors,  they  yet  remain  as  silent  wit-; 
nesses  of  the  past,  and  cannot  help  but  mar  the  future.  Oft-, 
times  a constant  reminder  is  more  galling  than  the  act  it- 
self. 

Lil.  Oh,  of  course,  if  you  are  bound  to  spend  all  your 
time  worrying  about  what  has  happened  in  the  past,  there  is 
very  little  hope  for  your  future  happiness.  Can’t  you  bury 
the  past,  and  if  necessary  erect  a suitable  monument  proper- 
ly inscribed  to  the  memory  thereof,  and  let  it  go  at  that  ? 

Ches.  Unfortunately,  each  act  of  our  lives  winds  itself 
around  our  temporary  associations  like  the  vine  around  the 
tree,  which  when  taken  away  leaves  its  impression  marked 
plainly  forever.  The  only  possible  chance  of  entirely  free- 
ing one's  self  from  all  associations  of  the  past  and  securing 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


37 


a new  environment  is  to  avoid  all  possible  chance  of  any 
recollection  thereof,  establishing  a new  beginning  in  a land 
so  remote  as  to  preclude  all  chance  of  any  recurrence  of  the 
thoughts  that  are  past. 

Lil.  You  saved  my  life,  which  convinces  me  of  your 
courage.  Would  it  not  be  more  in  keeping  with  such  a 
character  to  remain  here  with  the  determination  of  living 
down  any  mistakes  of  the  past? 

Ches.  Alas ! I have  tried  in  vain  to  do  that.  It  is  a use- 
less task.  I have  braved  the  possibility  of  prison  walls  for 
your  sake.  I feel  confident  that  your  influence  would  make 
a better  man  of  me.  If  you  really  love  me,  you  will  not  hesi- 
tate to  do  as  I ask. 

Lil.  But  I could  not  leave  without  first  asking  Aunty’s 
consent. 

Ches.  Why  is  that  necessary  ? She  is  as  unforgiving  as 
the  rest  of  the  world,  and  would  be  certain  to  advise  you 
against  a union  with  a “man  with  a past.”  Do  not  delay! 
Why  can  you  not  answer  for  yourself — and  now? 

Lil.  No  ! Do  not  ask  me  that ! I do  care  for  you — 
very,  very  much ; but  do  not  ask  me  to  part  from  my  home 
and  friends  in  such  a manner.  They  have  all  been  good  to 
me — I cannot  leave  them  without  a word  of 

Ches.  Then  you  do  not  care  for  me ! 

Lil.  Yes,  yes!  Very,  very  much!  More  than  any  one 
else,  but 

Ches.  ( putting  his  arm  around  her).  Then  come,  before 
it  is  too  late.  We  have  not  a moment  to  spare. 

Lil.  ( retreating  from  him).  No,  I cannot! 

Change  music  to  hurry , pp. 

Ches.  I have  staked  all  for  you ! My  very  life  is  in 
constant  danger ! Do  not  delay ! Once  on  board  the  steam- 
er, we  can  defy  the  whole  world!  ( Grasps  Lil.  by  the 
waist.  She  struggles  to  free  herself.) 

Enter  Ver.,  R.  i E. 

Ver.  (to  Ches.).  Stop!  You  have  crimes  enough  to 
answer  for,  without  adding  a new  one  to  the  list ! 


38  the  face  at  the  window 

Lii..  Stop  him,  Vera!  He  doesn’t  know  what  he  is  do- 
ing! 

Ver.  Stop!  Do  you  hear  me?  ( Attempts  to  get  be- 
tween Ches.  and  Lil.) 

Ches.  Out  of  my  way,  woman!  ( Pushes  Ver.  aside.) 

Ver.  I tell  you,  you  shall  not  take  her ! (Grasps  Lil. 
and  finally  disengages  her  from  Chester’s  arms.)  Come 
away  from  him,  Lillian ! His  very  touch  is  venomous ! 

Lil.  (amazed).  Why,  Vera,  what  is  he  to  you? 

Ver.  He — he  is  my  husband! 

Ches.  It  is  a lie ! 

Reg.  (calls  from  off,  L.).  Vera!  Vera! 

Ches.  Aha ! Young  Spoff ord,  eh  ? So  he  has  betrayed 
me? 

Ver.  ( pointing  off,  R.  i E.).  Go!  Quick!  I will  save 
you ! 

Ches.  (drawing  revolver).  You  lie!  It  is  a scheme  you 
have  patched  up  between  you  to  get  me  out  of  the  way ! 
But  if  my  future  life  is  to  be  ruined,  so  shall  yours! 
( Shoots  off  L.,  as  if  at  Reg.) 

Enter  Hen.,  followed  by  Mo.,  L.  2 E. 

Hen.  (revolver  in  hand).  Hands  up!  You  are  my  pris- 
oner ! 

Ches.  (shoots  Hen.,  who  falls,  then  grasps  Lil.,  and 
backs  up  L.) 

Mo.  (falling  on  his  knees).  Oh!  Please!  Marse  Bill! 
Doan  shoot!  Doan  shoot! 

Enter  Mrs.  S.,  R.  2 E.,  followed  by  Din.,  and  a number 
of  Villagers. 

Mrs.  S.  Lillian!  Where  is  she? 

Ver.  ( pointing  to  Ches.  and  Lil.).  There! 

Ches.  (holding  Lil.  in  left  arm,  threatens  them  with  re- 
volver  in  right  hand.  Lil.  screams) . 

Mrs.  S.  Oh ! Save  her ! Save  her ! 

Ches.  If  you  value  her  life,  let  no  one  follow  me!  If 
anyone  attempts  it,  she  shall  die  with  me!  (Starts  to  back 
off,  L.  3 E.) 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW 


39 

Hen.  {recovering,  rises  on  one  knee  and  points  revolver 
it  Ches.)  Halt,  or  I’ll  shoot! 

Ches.  {placing  Lil.  in  front  of  him).  Shoot  if  you  dare! 

All.  Coward ! 

Ches.  Call  me  what  you  like ! I must  protect  myself ! 
Who  shall  stop  me  now? 

Reg.  {enter  L.  3 E.).  I will ! {Grabs  Ches.’s  right  arm , 
thus  keeping  revolver  pointed  upward.  Ches.  releases  Lil., 
Lho  runs  to  Mrs.  S.  and  falls  in  her  arms . Swell  music  to 
ff.  Reg.  and  Ches.  struggle . Mo.  runs  up  stage , takes  re- 
uolver  from  Ches.  and  shoots  him.  Ches.  screams  and 
falls  dead.) 

All  {yell).  Hurrah!  Saved!  Hurrah! 

Din.  {down  R.).  Moses  Johnson!  You  come  right  hyar 
pis  berry  minute!  (Mo.  puts  revolver  in  pocket  and  sheep - 
ily  goes  to  Din.,  who  grabs  him  by  the  arm.)  You  all  jes’ 
wait  till  I git  you  home,  Ls  gwine  ter  fry  you  de  bigges’  po’k 
chop  what  I kin  find!  {Looks  at  him  admiringly.) 

Reg.  {goes  to  Ver.  and  embraces  her).  Vera,  you  are 
free  at  last!  Will  you  have  me  now? 

Ver.  {falls  back  in  his  arms,  smiling  at  him).  Yes! 

All.  Hurrah ! Hurrah ! 

Change  music  to  lively  march  at  curtain. 

Quick  Curtain. 


MY  DIXIE  ROSE 


By  MABEL  KEIGHTLEY  BENNETT 
Price,  35  Cents 

Comedy-drama  in  3 acts;  5 men,  3 women.  Time,  2^  hours. 
Scene:  1 interior.  Charming,  lovable,  mischievous  Dixie  Rose! 

Life  to  her  seems  to  be  all  daring  horseback  rides  and  innocent 
flirtations  and  rollicking  jokes,  until  trouble  crosses  her  path  in 
the  form  of  a persistent  elderly  suitor.  This  sinister  person  de- 
mands that  she  marry  him  to  save  her  beloved  father,  a southern 
colonel  of  the  old  school,  from  financial  ruin  and  disgrace,  and 
her  lover  from  indictment  for  an  offense  that  later  turns  out  to  be 
“framed.”  The  lover,  however,  arrives  in  time  to  prevent  the 
hated  marriage  and  forces  the  plotter  to  reveal  the  great  secret 
of  Dixie’s  identity,  namely,  that  she  is  the  Colonel’s  granddaughter 
and  also  heiress  to  a large  fortune.  A stirring  drama,  colored  by 
the  alluring  romance  of  the  old  South  and  the  vigorous  enterprise 
of  the  new.  Cast  includes:  the  peppery  but  soft-hearted  old 
colonel;  Dixie’s  jealous  but  devoted  lover;  his  haughty  father;  a 
hard,  selfish  beauty  of  the  adventuress  type;  and  a youthful  en- 
gaged couple,  who  are  perpetually  quarreling. 


MOTHER’S  OLD  HOME 


By  ORRELLE  FIDLAR  CORNELIUS 
Price,  25  Cents 

Comedy  in  1*  act;  1 man,  6 women.  Time,  35  minutes.  Impelled 
by  malicious  village  gossip,  a sweet  old-fashioned  mother  plans  to 
give  up  her  home  and  live  with  her  married  daughter.  But  finding 
herself  unwelcome  and  out  of  sympathy  with  the  younger  genera- 
tion, she  remains  in  the  old  home  among  her  beloved  neighbors. 
Delightful  compound  of  tears  and  laughter. 


T.  S.  DENISON  8C  COMPANY,  Publishers 

623  S.  Wabash  Ave.,  CHICAGO 


Denison's 

lavs  stand 

for* 


Jend  for  Co^plefe 
Descriptive  Catalogue 

T.S.  Denison  & Company  Publishers 

623  South  Wabash  Ave.  CHICAGO 


Denison's 

Monologues 


Readings 


TALKATIVE 

TILLY 


MI— 229 


